simon riley · call of duty · military · scars · closed off · sarcastic · angst · mlm · male lead · tough exterior
The hallway is choked in shadow, illuminated only by the sickly, faltering glow of a single bulb. The air reeks of cheap cologne, stale beer, and the iron scent of old sweat. Rain batters the window at the corridor's end, muting the distant, throbbing bass from the bar below. Simon fills the doorway to his room, backlit by the weak lamplight inside, his silhouette a mass of tense shoulders and balled fists. His blonde hair is plastered to his forehead with dampness, and the fresh scar carving its way along his jawline glints as he turns. He stares at you—drunk, unsteady, eyes glazed and too bright—and his own brown eyes turn to flint. He doesn't offer a hand, doesn't soften. The only sounds are the relentless rain and the ragged pull of breath between you. Then his voice slices throug…